User blog:TheScareCr0we/A Chance Encounter
To hell with everything. That was the thought running through Jefferson's mind, as he wandered aimlessly through the street's of damascus. That girl was right. There was nothing he could do about the darker forces at play in the city. Nothing he could do about her. Hell, he probably couldn't catch the spree killer that was on the loose. If only he'd accepted that fish-man's offer to get a mind-wipe. Would it be too late to accept? He'd have to think about that later, as upon entering the Timberwolve's territory, the sounds of a conflict forced him to part with his thoughts for the time being. He reached inside his lacket, fingers wrapping themselves against the cliche revolver he always carried on him. Pulling it from it's holister, he moved towards the source of the ruckus. Probably a gang fight between the Wolves and those new masked freaks in town. According to the chief, the Wolve's leader made it painfully clear he wants the masks gone. Guess he's afraid of competition. Go fucking figure. As he rounded the corner, Jefferson was caught off guard by the scene before him. It wasn't some gang war. Hell, it wasn't even something he'd ever have considered possible in this city. But there before him stood a lone figure, face obscured by a motorcycle helmet, coated in blood, and a scarf blowing in the wind. Around him layed several Timberwolves, alive, Jeff could tell, but just barely. The masked figure held another Wolve against the wall by the throat, pointing an aluminum bat at the poor fool's face. "Be happy, I've decided I'm going to let ''you ''live. But in exchange, I want you to tell all your friends about me. Tell them there's a new sherif in town, and this one don't take prisoners." The figure exclaimed, though due to the helmet, it was only audible to the Wolve. Jefferson did the only thing he could think to do in this situation. He raised his revolver as he stepped into the view of the two figures. "Freeze!" he shouted. God damn did that sound cliche. Then again, who gives a damn. He's pointing a revolver at what appears to be a costumed vigilante assaulting a crazed drug dealer that worships a fucking gas-mask wearing angel. This scene was something straight out of a god damned comic book. The masked figure let go of the thug, and turned to face Jefferson, seemingly unaffected by the fact that there was a gun pointed directly at him. "Who the hell are you?" He asked, his voice seemingly masked by one of those cheap dollar store voice changers. "I'm the police." Jefferson retorted, having spoken this half-truth countless times by now. "Drop the bat and put your god damned hands in the air!" The figure began laughing. "The police? Hah. That's a good one. The police in this town don't do shit from what I've been told." He'd barely spoke more than a few sentances, yet this man was already starting to wear on Jefferson's nerves. I mean seriously, what kind of nutjob wears a god damned power glove these days? Hell, what kind of nutjob even owns a power glove? Clearly this guy did, for what ever reason. "Well this cop does. Now drop the damn bat or I'll fucking shoot your ass down." "All right, all right!" the figure replied, in a tone that suggested he was rolling his eyes behind that tinted visor. "I'll drop it." He extends his left arm and let's the bat fall from his fingers, coming clattering to the ground. Almost simultaniously, he has drawn what appears to be a glock or something with his right, and has it pointed towards Jeff. "There, happy? Now would you kindly piss the fuck off? I'm kind of busy." "With what, cold-blooded murder?" "Is it still murder if you're killing a killer?" "Yes!" Jefferson retorted. "And it's still ''highly ''illegal." "Who gives a fuck? If you're really the police, then I'm doing you a fucking favor. I'm cleaning up the shit you losers refuse to deal with." The masked figure's voice is raising, seemingly with anger, but with a touch of passion and self-righteousness. Jefferson tighten's his grip around the gun, his index finger hovering just over the trigger. The figure continued. "If you really cared about the people of this city, you'd fucking point me in the direction of the next freak that needs an aluminum bat to the face." Okay, this guy was clearly full of it. A self-righteous peice of shit who thinks he's better than everyone else. Think's he can take the law into his own god damned hand. Think's he can.....wait a minute. Isn't that exactly what Jeff has been doing? Looking down on the other officers for failing to do their job. Thinking he was the only one who could make a difference in this burning city. And here he was, losing his resolve, and threatening to kill a man who was no different than himself. Jefferson sighed in defeat, returning his gun and fishing around in his pockets. "You want a target?" he asks rhetorically, withdrawing a stack of photographs and extending them towards the figure. "Her name is Mizuki Carmine. She's the ex-fucktoy of the terrorist who orchestrated the hotel massacre. A cannibal serial killer who mutilates her victims with medical precision. Brightly coloured anime hair. And...." he pauses, considering weather or not he should go further. Fuck it, the guy ought to know if he's seriously going to go after her. "and she's seemingly not human." The figure holisters his pistol, and promptly snatching up the photos, flipping through them. "So" Jeff pauses, still somewhat unsure of himself and what he's just done. "What do you say?" The figure lift's his head, seemingly looking stright at Jefferson. After a moment of silence, he responds. "Yippie kai-ay, motherfucker." Category:Blog posts